Sarong Party Girls (14 page)

But one day Gavin was late for econs lecture and I guess his gang forgot to save a seat for him—­and usually I sit with Sher, but that day she was sick so there was a big empty seat next to me. Ten minutes after Mrs. Ho started talking about diminishing returns or some shit I heard someone sneaking into Sher's usual chair. When I looked to my left and saw it was Gavin, I was so shocked my mouth dropped open and I even stopped writing notes. Fucker saw that and just laughed quietly, shaking his head.
Babi!

I thought, OK lah, if he wants to be like that, guniang will be a bit stuck-­up with him. I just turned back to my notes and didn't look at him again during the whole lecture. At the end, when he winked at me and just got up quickly to leave, I wasn't surprised. Probably had some hot date at recess or something. Cheh!

I saw him around school the next few days, of course—­fucker would wink at me here and there but never bothered to come over and say hello. But then a few days later, I happened to be leaving school late—­so late that the bus stop outside was empty. Gavin was sitting on the railing at the bus stop, just casually smoking, looking a bit action. Damn funny—­I whole life never see him at bus stop before. He had a BMW after all—­and even if he didn't have his car that day, his mum could always send her driver to come and fetch him. What's he doing at a bus stop? The mighty Gavin taking public transportation? As if!

When I got to the bus stop though, Gavin threw his ciggie into the longkang and hopped off the railing.

“Why are you so late?” he asked.

I was so stunned I had to look around me for a moment to make sure he wasn't actually talking to someone behind me.

“Come,” he said. “I send you home.”

I usually try to be a bit proud—­but then again, I also never say no to free car ride. (At that time, buses got no air-­con, you know—­if you have to take long bus trip in the middle of the afternoon . . . very hardship!) So I just nodded and follow him to his BMW.

“You live near town, right?” he said after he started the engine—­this engine was damn power, man. It sounded like one of those Formula One cars! (Not that I'd actually ever been close enough to a sports car to hear something like this. But hello, even if Jazzy here is not rich, she has some imagination.)

“Yah,” I said, suddenly wondering how he knew where I live. I had never even said “Hello” to him before—­how the hell did he know all these things?

“OK, I bring you to King's Hotel for lunch first,” he said. “The chicken rice there, quite good.”

Go to a hotel to eat chicken rice? I whole life never hear something so stupid before. Chicken rice is hawker food, hello—­the hawker center across from my block alone has so many good kinds, and all just the two-­dollar three-­dollar type! If you are toot enough to go to a hotel for chicken rice, you must know you're going to cough up at least ten dollars for a plate! And GST on top of that! But I assumed he was paying, so I just kept quiet. In fact, being quiet was not so hard at that point. Gavin's air-­con was as power as his engine—­everything was so cold and shiok I was getting a bit sleepy. I actually wished he wasn't there so I could just close my eyes and take a nap. But babi was not only sitting next to me—­he kept looking at me, like he wanted to see if I was OK or not. So I just looked out the window and counted the angsana trees flashing by.

“I'm Gavin,” he said.

“You think I don't know, is it?”

I heard him laugh, so I turned around to look at him.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said. I could see that he was still smiling. “Just wondering why you are being so attitude with me. It's not like I did something to you before. Excuse me, uncle over here is even fetching you home and all.”

OK lah. He had a point. I guess I was on edge because I wasn't really sure what was going on. Is he treating me like a charity case? Or did he want to ask me for favor? (My god, if he wants to copy my econs homework, he's even more stupid than I think.) This kind of situation—­rich handsome guy; poor not bad-­looking girl—­usually never ends well in those films in the cinema. Often the guy's friends dare him to ask her out or something—­and in the end they always end up making fun of the girl and how poor she is. Jazzy may not have money lah, but she's not a goondu!

I didn't know what to say so I just turned around and carried on looking out the window.

Gavin had turned onto the ECP by then and revved up his engine so we went a bit faster. I wished he would slow down. I had only been on this part of the ECP a few times before because guniang usually only took buses at that time. (And buses never go on the ECP, which is why all the bus rides from Changi all take so long. Sometimes, it feels like we have to get through one thousand traffic lights and even more bus stops before I get home, man.) It had already rained that day so the sky was damn blue and I could see a few ­people walking near the beach, the rows of skinny, short holiday chalets, the tall palm trees all around, the seaside hawker center that I heard had very shiok satay. I bet every day when Gavin drives to school he never even looks out his window at all this. When the fucker wants to go to a beach I bet he just flies to Bali or some shit.

“How you know I live in Tiong Bahru?” I asked.

“I asked around,” he said. “And I've been noticing you. You're quite popular, you know. There are a lot of guys in school who are just waiting for a chance to take you out.”

Popular? Fucker must be pulling my leg. I know I'm a bit cute lah—­some more I make sure to keep my school uniform skirt damn short. Some girls in school—­even Eurasians!—­have even quietly taken me aside before to ask me to show them my technique for rolling up my skirt at the waistband so the skirt rides up but also flares out nicely in that way that suggests that maybe guys can see a bit of backside if they look hard enough but hello, of course we girls know better than to actually give the whole show away for free.

No, usually when strange guys start talking to me, it's usually because they want to get closer to Sher. Back then, I had better legs lah (hence the emphasis on skirt-­rolling) but Sher was already damn pretty. Even so, she wasn't that busy on the dating scene because the truth is, she just couldn't be bothered. Of all of us, she was the most focused on studies—­so when she was in school, she actually cared about going to classes type. (And when she was there, she actually listened.) I could always see guys—­really good-­looking ones, too—­trying to get close enough to her to say hello. But usually only the really nerdy smart ones were the only ones who succeeded because Sher was mostly interested in asking them about homework and other cock shit like that. I had heard that some guys in school had started calling her “Ice Princess” because she never talked to ­people she didn't know. I guess they thought they could get to her through me because I was a bit more friendly. (Or desperate? Babi.)

I wanted to say something to Gavin—­like “Don't talk cock lah!”—­but decided to act cool. So I just nodded and kept looking out the window.

“You know,” I said. “Usually when guys ask a girl out, they do it nicely, sometimes bringing flowers all. They don't kidnap them at a bus stop and force them to go and eat chicken rice.”

“Kidnap?” he said, laughing again, shaking his head. “You are really something, Jazeline.”

After that, we were stuck together like superglue. We went to lectures together, studied together at McDonald's after school, on weekends we'd go to shows at Lido, holding hands for the world to see that we were a ­couple. The one year we were together was quite fantasy lah. If it was Bollywood movie we confirm would be running around a tree.

Even though I thought at first that Gavin was damn attitude, he actually turned out to be a very good boyfriend. Always pick me up in his BMW; always send me home. Some more each month on the fourteenth—­the anniversary of our first bus stop date—­he always gave me a present. Something branded some more—­not a flashy or expensive present, usually something small like a Gucci keychain or the cheapest Tiffany pen. But on my birthday he gave me a Louis Vuitton wallet—­the one with the logos all over so everyone could see it was LV!

Things were going so well after a few months that I actually allowed myself to start imagining what it would be like to be Mrs. Gavin Lim. To live in big house, have two maids, maybe even a Malay driver. Win lottery! This kind of life, I confirm don't mind. I wasn't sure how rich Gavin was exactly—­and honestly, I didn't really care. I got the sense that he was definitely rich enough for more than one maid. But I did hope that he could give me enough to buy a nice house for my mum and dad also, and make sure they also had a maid to take care of them. I know back then we were still pretty young but it was a little bit different than it is now. When you're in school, some of the relationships you have, you'll stick with them until early twenties and when it's a decent enough age, you get married. Those kinds of school relationships were much simpler than now lah—­now, aiyoh, it's all about hooking up and getting free drinks. Somewhere along the way between JC and real life, everything always changes when it comes to dating. If you're one of the lucky ones, you'll snag that good guy before he sees the opportunities out there and any of that crap can change him.

Then a few months before our A-­level preliminary exams, Gavin took me to dinner at Nadaman at the Shang. Nice Japanese dinner at Nadaman? Must be something important. Could it be? Just in case, I made sure my mascara was waterproof that night. So when I make those few tears of joy at least we can still take a nice photo afterward.

The dinner was damn shiok—­foie gras chawanmushi, super expensive sashimi and all—­but guniang here was not even halfway through eating when Gavin dropped his fucking bomb.

“I think we should take a break,” he said, reaching across the table to take my hand.

I just laughed. Things were going so well—­why was he saying such cock words? “Crazy, ah?” I said, laughing even more.

“Jazz, I'm serious,” he said. “The A-­levels are so important. My mum says I need to really focus. She wants me to come straight home after school every day and take extra tuition classes before the preliminary exams. I can't afford to bollocks this up.”

His mum! Of course she is behind this. I always try not to be rude to my elders but Auntie Lim is a fucking chee bye, man. From the first time I met her until now, she was always damn stuck-­up around me, always pulling a dark face if Gavin invites me to family parties. I know she thinks her precious son can do better.

“Did your mum ask you to break up with me?” I asked.

“Break up? No! This is not that, Jazz. She just thought maybe it's good to take a break. Just at least until the A's are over.”

“Why do we need a break? We can see each other less often. Do you think I don't know how important the A's are? I also need to study! You're not the only one who is trying to have a future, Gav!”

“I know, I know. Jazz, please don't be upset.”

He was trying to bend across the table to kiss me now but I just leaned back and folded my arms.

“Jazz,” he said, sighing. “You know I love you. My mother . . . you know what she's like. I need to at least pass my A's. The future chairman of Lim Yee Sheng Exports cannot retake his A's! Do you know how embarrassing that would be? My parents won't be able to show their faces at Chinese New Year!”

I refused to say anything and just looked away. I was still waiting for him to tell me this is a joke. Or that he's going to tell his mum to go fly a kite.

“My mother said if I don't at least show I'm serious about it and break up with you—­for now—­she's going to take away my car. And cut my allowance. Do you know how hard that would be? I would have to take a bus to school! I won't even have enough money to take a taxi to school! Do you understand?”

At that point, I finally did. I guess I had thought Gavin was different.

I folded my napkin, put it on the table and picked up my handbag.

“Jazz, please, don't go. Don't be so petty. I know you love me. Think about my future. Please?”

I just got up and walked away.

Gavin shouted behind me, “It's just temporary!”

But of course it wasn't.

And ever since then, even though now and then of course there will be some rich Singaporean guys who want to chase me, I never say yes. Date these spineless babies who at the end of the day will always kowtow to their snobby mums? No thank you. Please—­waste time only.

Even though I hated Gavin, he still popped into my head now and then. Last I heard, he was in the States—­California or some shit—­studying business after he finished with his army training. Not married yet, but I can confirm I'll never hear from him again. His mother would probably vomit blood and die if she ever heard the name “Jazeline” ever again, I'm sure. And boys like Gavin will always keep that in mind once they get close to marrying age.

Even so, kani nah—­eight years later and I still think about him whenever I see a Gucci handbag. Damn pathetic, right?

I guess, since he was the first person who gave me branded gifts, I can't help but think of him whenever I go to Paragon. There's Bottega lah, Chanel lah, Gucci lah; the air-­con is cold cold and all, the toilets so nice they have a sofa, pink carpet and must pay twenty cents to even enter type. All these things somehow make me think of Gavin. I guess I imagined that one day I would be able to come to Paragon and actually buy something for myself, not just look-­see look-­see.

Even though this mall makes me think of him and that cock time before Jazzy here smartened up, I still come. Just seeing all the logo handbags and big fashion show catwalk posters, the expensive lipsticks and thousand-­dollar high heels—­even if it's through the window—­can always cheer me up. And this evening I really needed cheering up.